Wild Blood: The Trueborn Saga Book 1 Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 - Raven

  Chapter 2 - Emmett

  Chapter 3 - Raven

  Chapter 4 - Emmett

  Chapter 5- Raven

  Chapter 6 - Emmett

  Chapter 7 - Raven

  Chapter 8 - Emmett

  Chapter 9 - Raven

  Chapter 10 - Emmett

  Chapter 11 - Emmett

  Chapter 12 - Raven

  Chapter 13 - Raven

  Chapter 14 - Emmett

  Chapter 15 - Raven

  Chapter 16 - Emmett

  Chapter 17 - Raven

  Chapter 18 - Emmett

  Chapter 19 - Raven

  Chapter 20 - Emmett

  Chapter 21 - Raven

  Chapter 22 - Raven

  Chapter 23 - Emmett

  Chapter 24 - Emmett

  Chapter 25 - Raven

  Chapter 26 - Emmett

  Chapter 27 - Raven

  Chapter 28 -Emmett

  Chapter 29 - Emmett

  Chapter 30 - Raven

  Chapter 31 - Emmett

  Chapter 32 - Emmett

  Chapter 33 - Raven

  Chapter 34 - Raven

  Chapter 35

  Thanks for reading

  Books by Samantha Wolfe

  About the Author

  WILD

  BLOOD

  The Trueborn Saga

  - Book 1 -

  By

  Samantha Wolfe

  Copyright © year 2018

  All rights reserved.

  For all those fantastical stories that have been floating around in my head for years just begging to be let out...

  1

  RAVEN

  "Sing it girl!" I cry out to Luna just as the final chorus of the song blaring from the old pickup truck's radio kicks in.

  I belt out the lyrics as I shoot a quick glance at the forty-five-pound silver and white Siberian Husky perched on the passenger seat next to me. I watch with a smile as she throws her head back and lets out a high pitched yodeling howl with her head still hanging out the open window. We finish the song together, and I'm left laughing as Luna turns a wide doggy grin and dancing pale blue eyes my way.

  "Good girl," I tell her as I reach over and ruffle her furry ears.

  Luna licks my hand once then shoves her nose to the wind again as trees and corn fields bathed in late-afternoon sunshine rush by. I smile indulgently at my dog, her tongue lolling out and one paw on the passenger door armrest. Oh to be so easily happy and content with life. Then I frown as I realize I'm jealous of a damn dog. I sigh and flip off the radio, suddenly not in the mood for singing anymore. That's when I hear a familiar ring tone on my phone.

  Son of a bitch.

  I snatch it up out of the cup holder just as it switches over to voice mail, apparently for the third time and in addition to several texts that I missed while singing with my dog. I don't even bother reading the texts or listening to the voice mails and immediately return the call.

  "Baby girl, you're killin' me," says the familiar gruff male voice when the call picks up before it can even ring on my end.

  "Sorry, Dad," I say as I grimace apologetically. "I had the radio on and missed your calls. I'm just driving home from the store."

  I drove out to the big-box store by the freeway for our groceries, since they have a bigger selection than the tiny grocery store in downtown Wolcott, the sleepy little town that we moved to several weeks ago.

  "I know you love your music, Raven," he continues calmly, "and you're an adult, but..." -he sighs softly- "this area is new to us both, and I worry when I can't get a hold of you." After a moment of silence, he whispers. "What if you have a seizure?"

  "I haven't had one in a long time, Dad," I reply reassuringly as guilt punches into me. "And Luna is acting fine."

  My dog is a seizure alert dog and when one is imminent, she paws and whines and generally gets all up in my face. She hasn't had to alert in over eight months, much to my relief since it allows me to drive again and be more independent. I finally seem to have a handle on my epilepsy through medication. If my good luck lasts, I'm planning on taking some classes in January at the little community college in Harrisville, the next town over.

  "Good," he says, his voice a little rough with emotion.

  As a single parent, my dad has always been on the overprotective side, especially considering my seizure disorder. However, it's waned quite a bit since I turned eighteen four years ago and more recently since my seizures became less frequent. Now that we live in a new town, his protectiveness has begun to resurface all over again in the last few weeks. I try to be patient and understanding, considering I'm all he has, but it's hard not to chaff against it. When I was a teenager, I acted out and rebelled quite a bit because of it, and I'm not proud of how I acted or the undo stress I caused him. Luckily, I've grown up a lot since then, and I usually keep my irritation to myself.

  "Don't worry, Dad," I tell him softly. "I'm okay."

  "Have you heard back about that diner job yet?" he asks next in an attempt to mask his feelings and change the subject.

  My father, Brandon Cade, isn't always the most demonstrative man when it comes to the softer emotions. My stomach instantly drops because this is the last subject I want to discuss.

  "No, not yet," I answer with a grimace.

  I won't be hearing back about it at all. I had an interview a few days ago at the diner on the main drag of downtown that didn't go well. The only damn train tracks in town were occupied by the slowest and longest train I ever saw in my life. I was over twenty minutes late, and that, on top of walking in with Luna, nixed the possibility of a job. I saw it on the owner's disapproving face when I announced I was there for an interview. They couldn't legally deny me a job because of my service dog, but being late for the interview was a handy reason to hammer the last nail into the coffin of that job opportunity.

  "I believe in you, baby girl," Dad says with a certainty that makes me feel even worse.

  "Thanks, Dad," I say, still too cowardly to tell him what happened. I really hate letting him down.

  I suddenly hear the unintelligible chattering of what I know to be a police radio in the background.

  "I have to go," Dad's voice is stern and all business now. "I've got a call." I hear the siren of his police cruiser fire up. "I'll see you in the morning after my shift, and I'll cook you breakfast since I can't make you dinner tonight. Okay?"

  "Okay," I say, feeling a little sad. He got called in early today, so we can't eat dinner together like we usually do. Instead, I'll be cooking and eating alone tonight.

  "Love ya, baby girl."

  "Love you too, Dad. Bye," I reply, and the call goes silent.

  I sigh as I put my phone back in the cup holder as fear niggles away in my mind. My dad is a cop on the Wolcott Police Department, and even though the chances of whatever call he's gotten being as dangerous as the city job he left behind to come here, I still worry. He's all I have since my mother died when I was still a baby. I frown as melancholy falls over me, grieving and missing someone I never even knew. How pathetic.

  Something cold nudges my elbow, and I glance over to see Luna eying me with concern. She whines pathetically and lays her head on my thigh to comfort me. Not only is she my service dog, she's my best friend and constant companion. I adore her. I don't know what I would do without her.

  "Good girl," I whisper with a soft smile and rest my hand on her head. I stare dejectedly at the road ahead and continue to drive.

  Just ahead on the left a building appears to break up the monotony of
the lonely two-lane highway we're on. I slow down in curiosity as it comes into view. It's worn wooden siding feeds its rural ambiance to a tee, along with a long covered porch and a scraggly looking stand of trees surrounding it. Neon signs for several brands of beer and one open sign are currently lit up in the windows. The large sign out front of what I now know is a bar announces the place as Rowdy's Tavern. Huh. Well, the name certainly suits it too. I wonder why I didn't even notice the place when I drove past it earlier today.

  As I come abreast of the bar, I spy a white handwritten sign that reads "Servers wanted, inquire within," next to the front door. I instinctively slam on the breaks sending Luna lurching forward. She barely keeps herself from falling off the seat onto the floor.

  "Sorry, girl," I mutter as I hit the gas again and pull into the parking lot before I can second guess my impulsive decision. If I can a find job somewhere else, I won't ever have to tell Dad about the failed diner interview. I try not to think about what Dad's reaction to me working at a place like this would be.

  There's one other vehicle in the lot right now, which is no surprise since it's late afternoon and far too early for bar hopping for most people, even if it is Friday. I slip Luna's service dog vest back on, so no one will question her coming in with me, then pull the vanity mirror down to check my reflection.

  Thankfully, I took the time to fix my hair today, so my shiny chin-length black bob and wispy bangs look great. I did my makeup too, and the dark eyeliner makes my big blue eyes pop and help me appear more my actual age instead of like a teenager. My T-shirt, skinny jeans, and ballet flats aren't ideal for a job interview, but I can't do anything about it. I think I'll be fine considering it's a bar I'm walking into.

  I blow out a nervous breath, snag my purse and Luna's leash, then climb out of my faded gray Ford Ranger with my dog hopping down behind me. I march straight to the front door before I chicken out, bolstered by Luna's reassuring presence next to me. I pull the heavy door open and lead the way into the dark interior.

  I'm instantly assaulted by the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap beer. The low sound of country music twangs away from somewhere nearby, and I spot a juke box in the back corner that must be the source as my vision finally adjusts to the dim lighting. The inside looks as rustic as the outside, with its pine wood-paneled walls and rough hewn plank flooring. Worn wooden tables with vinyl chairs are spread throughout the room, along with a few pool tables. A long bar stretches along the wall to my left, and a tiny stage and decent size dance floor are to the right. Yup, it had all the makings of a seedy dive bar, and I grimace as I picture Dad's disapproving scowl in my head.

  "No pets allowed," a raspy and clearly annoyed voice lashes out at me from a man behind the bar that I just now notice.

  He's scowling at me with hard pale eyes set in a sharply angular and scruffy bearded face, and his muscled tattooed arms crossed. His dark hair is cropped short, and he's wearing a tight white T-shirt and worn jeans. I think he's probably in his mid thirties, but his hostile demeanor might be making him seem older than he is.

  "She's a service dog," I explain as I point to Luna's vest that clearly announces what she is to anyone bothering to look.

  His now narrowed eyes flash down to the husky and back up to me with a stern and dubious expression.

  "No minors allowed either," he growls out sharply, then turns away in an obviously dismissive move.

  An old man at the bar, who appears to be the only patron here, is shooting a curious gaze my way as the bartender grabs a bottle off the bar and refills his glass with more whiskey.

  "I'm twenty-two," I snap out with irritation, my body now rigid with indignation. "And I'm here about the server job on the sign you have out front," I add as I throw a thumb over my shoulder in a jerking motion.

  The bartender deigns to look at me again, this time arching his brow as his accessing eyes slide down my body. He shakes his head and snorts derisively, then turns to grab a rag and commences to cleaning the worn bar top and ignores me yet again. Asshole. My baleful glare goes unnoticed until I give up.

  "Whatever," I grumble under my breath. I turn to leave because apparently stopping here is a complete waste of my time.

  "Hold on up there a minute, darlin'," a new male voice drawls out behind me, and this one actually sounds kind. It's the only reason I turn around instead of walking out the door.

  I find a man in a black pearl snap shirt and jeans weaving his way between the tables toward me with a wide and warm smile on his beard-stubbled face. He looks Hispanic with swarthy skin, shaggy black hair, heavy eyebrows, and dark eyes. I gauge him to be only five or six inches taller than my five-foot-six height, stockily built, and probably in his late forties or so.

  He approaches me in an unhurried and calm manner, then smirks as he stops a few feet in front of me. He's wearing a black leather bolo tie with a large oval stone set in silver at his throat. I think it's onyx, and it's such a dark and inky black that it almost seems to be drawing in the light around it. I catch the strong scent of men's cologne. Whoa. Although, it isn't a bad smelling one, it must have been applied with a heavy hand. Luna suddenly and violently sneezes a few times beside me. My poor girl, I can only imagine how strong it smells to her.

  "Don't let Brett scare ya'll off," he said, the drawl in his voice more apparent now, and I wonder if he's from Texas. "His social skills are a bit lacking." He reaches a hand out to me as his smile softens. "Welcome to Rowdy's Tavern. I'm the new owner, Fernando Chavez, but everyone calls me Chavez."

  "Um...I'm Raven Cade." I take his hand, thinking that maybe he should get a different bartender if that's how this one greets people. "I'm here about a job."

  "So I gathered, darlin'," he says wryly, but not in an offensive way. "Why don't we have a sit down and discuss it." He tilts his head back toward the tables.

  I don't know what it is about this guy, but I like him, and he seems cool. Brett's surly attitude notwithstanding, maybe coming in here was a good idea.

  "Okay," I agree with a smile of my own.

  Chavez waves me toward a nearby table, and I lead Luna past him. He drags in a deep breath as I pass, and if I didn't know any better I'd think he was sniffing me, but that can't be right. I doubt he can smell me over his own cologne anyway. He chivalrously pulls out a chair for me, then takes the one catty corner to mine. His face is curious as he watches Luna obediently lay down next to my chair to wait. I'm impressed that he hasn't tried to pet her. A lot of people can't seem to wrap their head around the fact that service dogs aren't to be fussed over while they're working. More points in Chavez's favor.

  "You have seizures?" he inquires, stating the obvious since the yellow stitching on Luna's blue vest says, "seizure alert dog" on it.

  "I have epilepsy, but I'm on medication to manage it," I reply a little defensively out of habit. Some people who find out about it often begin babying me. I hate that shit.

  "Good to know." He nods, seeming satisfied by my answer and showing no signs of pity whatsoever. Even more points for him.

  "Luna lets me know when I'm going to have one, so she has to come to work with me."

  "Of course," he immediately agrees. "Not to mention it's illegal for me to tell you she can't."

  I let out a sigh of relief since I didn't have to deal with that issue. Some people fought it anyway, and getting the police or a lawyer involved never works in my favor long term. Who wants a job you had to force someone to give you? Talk about a hostile work environment.

  "Do you have any experience?" he asks, already dismissing the Luna issue.

  "I've never worked in a bar, but I've been waitressing since I was sixteen," I tell him confidently. "I'm a hard worker and a quick study though, so I'm sure I can figure it out," I add for good measure.

  He nods and rubs thoughtfully at his chin as he eyes me assessingly, his expression growing grave. Shit. That isn't a good sign. I brace for disappointment, and the knowledge that I would now need to tell Dad about the din
er debacle.

  "I just have one last question, darlin'," he asks with narrowed eyes.

  "Yeah?" I ask curiously since that isn't what I expected Chavez to say at all.

  "Can you start tonight?" he asks with a grin.

  Elation surges to life inside me as I grin like an idiot right back at him, and answer, "Absolutely."

  A short while later, after filling out some paperwork and a quick tour of the place, I'm shaking hands with my new boss as he gives me instructions to show up early to get oriented for my first shift tonight. I waltz back outside into the bright afternoon sunshine wearing yet another idiotic grin with Luna trotting along behind me. I feel like I can conquer the world for all of two more seconds, until I abruptly realize I have to find a way to tell my dad that his baby girl got a job in a bar. I jerk to a halt as I once again picture his grim scowling face and balk at the idea immediately. Nope, not going to tell him. Not yet anyway, and besides, I'm an adult and can work wherever I please. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Right?

  2

  EMMETT

  I breathe in the night as the wind whips in and around the open interior of my old black Jeep Wrangler. Layers upon layers of scents reveal themselves with every single breath I take, the mysteries and intricacies of each one an open book to me as I speed down the two-lane highway. I pick up the scent of wild onions, and the faint hint of diesel fumes from a recent truck. I catch the rot of a dead raccoon I can easily spot on the roadside under the light of the waxing moon. I smell the ever-present scent of corn and fertilizer from the fields broken up by farm houses and the occasional stand of trees. I breathe it all in, and it settles the beast inside me that's itching to get out.

  I glance over at my best friend Cooper in the passenger seat, who practically has half his body hanging out of the vehicle since I took the doors off the Jeep tonight. I snort out a laugh, thinking he'll be lolling his tongue out like a dog any second.